Galatea
by R.J. Anderson
Summary: After three years of working with House, Cameron has become less predictable and more intriguing. But will House lose her before he can find out just how much she's changed? A House/Cameron fic for people who don't like House/Cameron, with lots of Wilson.
1. Chapter 1

GALATEA  
By R.J. Anderson 2006

_Part One_

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass doors of Princeton- Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, burnishing the lobby tiles to gold. Leaning heavily on his cane, Gregory House limped across the floor with a clinic folder in his free hand, his rumpled brown jacket and black t-shirt a dark blot against the brilliance. The rigid set of his jaw and the speed with which he was loping made most people instinctively move out of his path, but his colleague and best friend James Wilson was undaunted. He kept pace with House all the way to the elevators, doggedly pursuing a conversation he had started some minutes before:

"Look, it's been how long since you dated anyone? Stacy's out of the picture, looks like for good --"

"Definitely for good," said House, jabbing the elevator's UP button with the end of his cane. "Although I'm told _some_ people have a hard time believing that. Or so the anvils you've dropped on my head seem to subtly imply."

Wilson's mouth twisted ruefully. "Yes, well, I actually meant 'for good' in the 'permanent' sense."

House shrugged. "Sure, that too." Tucking the folder under his arm, he fished his bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket and thumbed it open, then popped one into his mouth and said around it, "So what's your point, Yenta?"

From anyone else that would have been a dismissal. From House, it was practically an invitation. Encouraged, Wilson went on: "All I'm saying is, it might be time to try again."

"Timing doesn't matter if there's nobody I want to date. Tell you what, how about _you_ try again? You're a lot less picky than I am."

"Are you saying you don't know _any_ women that interest you? Not one?"

"Nope." The elevator doors hissed open, and House limped forward.

Wilson followed him. "What about Cameron?" he asked as the doors closed.

"Cameron's a child."

"Oh, right, I forgot I was talking to the poster boy for emotional maturity."

"And I forgot I was talking to the expert on relationships."

"Nice," said Wilson, his thick brows lifting in acknowledgement of the hit. "The point is, Cameron's been here what, three and a half years now? She's seen you at your worst -- well, some of your worst, anyway -- and she still hasn't given up on you. Don't you think that proves something?"

"She hasn't given up because it's her job and she needs the money. So you're saying I should pay her to go out with me? Oh, wait, that's a _different_ job."

"You think the job means that much to her? She's smart, she's experienced, she could easily find something else. It wasn't that long ago she had an offer from Yule at Jefferson and the only reason she didn't take it is because you begged her."

A fleeting look of irritation crossed House's face. "I didn't _beg_ her. I don't _beg."_

"No, you just rejected every possible candidate to replace her, and then you went to her apartment and asked her to come back. You even agreed to take her out on a date. For you, that's begging."

House rolled his eyes. "Whatever. That was two years ago. You said yourself she's changed."

"Not that much. She's still attractive, and available. Make that very available."

"Well hey, if you think Cameron's so special, why don't _you_ date her?"

"Haven't we been here before?"

"I like the scenery," said House, and stepped off the elevator.

Wilson sighed.

"So what's the problem?" House persisted as the two men made their way down the hall toward their respective offices. "Unlike your last three wives, she's not going to complain about your choice of career."

"We're too alike."

"Oh, come off it."

"I'm serious. Think about it."

"I am thinking about it. It's still moronic. Cameron still can't bring herself to tell her patients they're dying, and you do it twice a day. With finesse."

"I've had more practice. That's not the point."

"You keep using that word 'point'. I do not think it means what you think it means."

"Well, of course there are _some_ differences. Big ones, even--"

"I can think of at least two." House paused, considering. "Don't know I'd call them big, exactly, but..."

"Oh, forget it." Wilson shoved open his office door and stalked in. "Go do something you're not supposed to be doing. That'll make you feel better."

"What makes you think I need to feel any better?" House raised his voice as the door began to swing closed. "I'm on top of the world."

Wilson didn't bother to answer.

- - -

"Heads up, my children," said House, tossing the folder onto the conference table. "Found this one in the clinic just now -- nice of Cuddy to finally make my day worthwhile."

Foreman, who was closest, scooped the file toward him and flipped it open. "35-year-old African-American female presents with severely swollen, itchy left arm... allergic reaction?"

"Oh gosh, why didn't I think of that?" said House sardonically.

"She's been on antihistamines," said Cameron, walking around to look over Foreman's shoulder. "And tried several other allergy medications over the past month. No improvement, no change."

"No evidence of trauma?" asked Chase with eyes still fixed on his crossword, then winced as a dry-erase marker bounced off the top of his head.

"What's a five-letter word meaning _useless Aussie slacker?_ No, there isn't. No puncture wounds, no bruising, no recent accidents or other injuries."

"That she'll admit to," said Cameron.

House gave her a quizzical look, but she didn't seem to notice. "True," he said at last. "However, just for the novelty, let's assume she's telling the truth." He uncapped another marker. "Oh, did I mention she's a church secretary? Not exactly high on the list of risky workplaces."

"Medications?" said Chase.

"Just the allergy pills," answered Cameron before House could reply, then added with a hint of apology, "That we know of."

House raised his eyebrows at her, and this time she met his gaze. A look of confusion crossed her face, and she made a little, scrubbing gesture at the side of her nose as Foreman spoke up again: "Any neurovascular deficit?"

"Nope," said House. "Lymph nodes aren't swollen, either. Her arm just looks like a big fat sausage. Fun, huh?"

Chase dropped his crossword, reached over and grabbed the file. "Hey!" said Foreman, but the younger man ignored him, frowning down at the page.

"Blood work shows some mild eosinophilia," he said at last.

"Which would normally be from asthma or hay fever," said Cameron. "But then there's no symptoms, and her chest is clear. Vasculitis?"

House turned his back on the three of them and loped toward the coffee machine. Before he could get there, however, Cameron intercepted him. "It's broken," she said. "Still," and handed him a styrofoam cup.

House eased off the lid, and steam threaded into the air. It was the right color, too -- Cameron knew how he liked it. He took a sip, rolled the scalding liquid into the back of his throat, and said, "Ah."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cameron drifting back to her place at the table. Once more she'd brought him coffee, without thanks or even acknowledgment -- much the same way she answered his mail, organized his case files, and handled several other administrative chores that he couldn't be bothered to do himself. Three years ago he'd been curious to know how long it would take for her to give up, especially once he made it plain that he wasn't going to repay her in the emotional currency she craved; but apparently the answer to that question was the same as the answer to the question of when Wilson would stop paying for House's lunch: never.

Now Foreman and Chase were arguing over the possibility of an axillary vein thrombosis, while Cameron ignored them both and leafed through the case file, a slight frown between her brows. House could predict the outcome right now: Foreman would bluster and insist on some wrong-headed diagnosis, Chase would throw out a half-baked idea and wait for House to shoot it down so he could play yes-man, and Cameron would --

House stopped, his eyes narrowing over the rim of his coffee cup. Just when had he stopped being certain of what Cameron would do?

"We give her heparin," insisted Foreman. "We do an ultrasound, and--"

"There's no case history here," Cameron broke in. She looked up at House, a faint accusation in her eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. In fact she practically talked my leg off about her diet and exercise habits, but trust me, none of it was relevant to the case."

Cameron nodded, and was silent again for a moment. Then she said, "I'd like to take a serum sample, run some more blood work. And ask her if she's ever lived out of the country."

Abruptly House turned around, opened a drawer, and began to rummage through the jumbled contents. Finding an otoscope, he limped over to the table, bent and peered into Cameron's ear.

She flinched back from him. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for evidence of alien life," replied House. Cameron looked blank, as did Foreman and Chase. House switched off the otoscope and stuck it in his pocket. "Well," he said, "either the invasion of the pert little body-snatchers has begun, or one of you has finally decided to learn something."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Foreman. "We all came here to learn."

"No, you didn't," replied House. "You came here to prove to me what fine doctors you are." He set his coffee down on the table and dropped into a chair, wincing at the ache in his leg. "Chase thinks he can prove it by sucking up to me no matter how much crap I dish out. Cameron thinks she can prove it by becoming best friends with every patient we treat, and you think you can prove it by continually questioning my judgment. But the only thing that proves is that he's spineless, she's unprofessional, and you're an idiot." He sipped the coffee again, untroubled by Foreman's glare.

"So... what did I do right all of a sudden?" asked Cameron.

"Aside from the refreshing skepticism about the patient's trauma and medication history, you've obviously got a diagnosis but don't want to waste my time yammering about it until there's evidence to back it up. That way you can stick to your guns and look smart doing it, instead of being indecisive or making an ass of yourself. Sounds good to me."

Cameron blinked and glanced around the room, clearly unsure of how to process anything that sounded so much like praise. Foreman looked mutinous.

"Foreman, do the ultrasound," House said to their silence. "And give her the heparin. Even if you're wrong, it isn't going to kill her. Chase, go bat those pretty blue eyes at the patient, and while you're at it, get her travel history. Her _full_ travel history."

"It was Cameron's idea," protested Chase.

"And now it's your job. Go do it."

Chase's eyes flickered to the wall clock, and his mouth flattened, but he went. After a fractional hesitation, Foreman picked up his clipboard and followed, deliberately avoiding House's gaze. Cameron remained at the table, looking down at the client file: House waited for her to say something, but she remained silent. At last he said, with more sharpness than he'd intended, "Aren't you going to ask me why I sent Chase instead of you?"

She looked up at him in mild surprise. "Because she's got something tragic in her background, and he's less likely to be distracted by it? Because she's a church secretary, and he went to seminary? Because she's the most irritating non-stop talker you've met in a long time and it amuses you to think of him trying to get a word in edgewise? One of those should cover it -- or, knowing you, probably all three."

House was grudgingly impressed, though he wasn't about to show it. "It's five o'clock. Haven't you got somewhere better to be?"

"Probably," she agreed, and closed the file. A few seconds ticked by while neither of them moved, and then she asked suddenly, "Did you mean what you said? About me being the only one..."

"Nah, not really. Just wanted to keep Chase and Foreman on their toes."

The corners of her mouth turned down, but she nodded, as though it were what she had been expecting. Without further comment, she rose and headed for the door.

"Hey," said House.

She paused and turned back to look at him. "Yes?"

"Explain this," he went on, leaning hard on his cane and pushing himself back up to his feet. "A few months ago you hated the idea that patients always lie. Now --" he limped a couple of steps closer, his eyes narrowed -- "you're using it as an operating principle."

"Well, you were right. More often than not, it's true. I've seen enough to know that now."

"Nice rationale, but it doesn't fit. You'd seen plenty of examples last year, too. So what changed?"

She gave a little shrug. "I realized that just because everybody lies doesn't mean that everybody is a bad person. Sometimes people lie to protect other people. Sometimes they lie because they're confused. Sometimes they lie because the truth is too terrible for them to bear."

"So?"

"So that means I can be skeptical without having to be cynical."

A mirthless smile quirked at his mouth. "Oh, yeah. That ugly cynicism stuff, we can't have that. I mean, next thing you know you'll be popping Vicodin and walking with a cane."

Cameron smiled back at him. "There are worse things," she said, and left.

House watched her go, then made a derisive noise and turned back to his coffee. At least the naivety hadn't changed.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

GALATEA  
By R.J. Anderson 2006

_Part Two_

"You can't be serious," said Foreman. "You were in there for half an hour last night and you didn't get _anything_?"

"I'm completely serious, thank you very much," Chase retorted. "And if you think you can do any better, be my guest. That's not a woman, that's a force of nature."

House tossed his ball up in the air, caught it with one hand and launched it at Foreman. "Well," he said, leaning back in his chair as the other man caught the ball automatically, "seems like our Hurricane Trisha--"

"Tirzah," said Cameron.

"Whatever -- has blown herself home for the time being, so we'll have to defer the pleasure of getting her travel history. Did you at least get the serum sample while she was talking?"

"Got it, ran a whole battery of tests, didn't find anything out of the ordinary," said Chase. "Of course, it would have helped if I knew what we were supposed to be looking for." He glanced back at Cameron, who shook her head and said, "It doesn't matter. I didn't find anything, either."

House deftly fielded Foreman's return pass and threw the ball up into the air again. "Well, the patient's out of our lives now. If we're lucky, Foreman was right and all she needed was a dose of heparin." He whipped the ball at Chase, who ducked. "Except, of course, he's wrong, so I give it forty-eight hours before she comes back for another round of show-and-tell. And tell. And tell."

"If she's really that bad," said Cameron, picking up the ball from the floor, "I'm amazed you didn't just yell 'shut up' at her."

"You think I didn't? You have so little faith in me. Unfortunately, all she did was turn up the treble and raise the volume a few notches. I would have tried again, but Cuddy got this strange idea that the patient and I were shouting at each other and sent Wilson in to break it up."

Foreman smirked. Cameron walked over and put the ball back on House's desk. "So what now?" she asked.

"New case, dug up by our very own Foreman. All I can say is, this had better be good."

"Twenty-year-old male," said Foreman resolutely. "Non-smoker, physically fit, suffering from increasing fatigue and breathing difficulties over the past two months. Now he's coughing up blood--"

"I am waiting for the detail that makes this case even slightly interesting," said House to the ceiling.

"--and there's protein in his urine."

"Oh, you just threw that in for me, didn't you? You knew I couldn't resist a good kidney failure in the morning." House swiveled his chair around, grabbed his bad leg and lifted it off the desk. "To the whiteboard, Robin!"

Fifteen minutes later the board was covered with House's scribbling, and the team had tossed around possible diagnoses of lupus and Wegener's granulomatosis before settling on an interim treatment with intravenous corticosteroids for the bleeding, followed by dialysis if the kidneys continued to fail. Foreman suggested a kidney biopsy, and House promptly sent him off to do it.

"Chase," he said, and the younger man looked up at him inquiringly.

"Take some chest x-rays, and bring the film back to me. Cameron, do the blood work -- run an ANA and an ANCA. I want to know if it's really autoimmune."

"Right," said Chase, getting to his feet. He looked back at Cameron, who was still sitting in her chair, reading the patient's file. "You coming?"

"Yeah," said Cameron absently. She continued reading a moment, then shut the file and followed Chase out. As the door began to swing shut, House heard him say to her, "So, we still on for tonight?"

"If House lets us out of here in time, sure. Did you make a reservation, or--"

The door closed, cutting off the rest of her words. House limped to the door and watched the two young doctors go, his eyes narrowed.

"Interesting," he said into the silence, but his voice was flat.

- - -

"What's the differential diagnosis for jealousy?" asked Wilson.

House snorted. "It's not jealousy, it's suspicion. I want to know what's in it for Chase."

"Presumably the same thing that'd be in it for you. Pretty girl, good company, someone to talk to..."

"It can't just be that he wants to nail her," said House, staring past his shoulder. "Because he did that two years ago." He took another bite of his sandwich, chewed it thoughtfully. "Unless she's just _that_ good."

"You know what I appreciate most about you," said Wilson, "is your delicacy."

"You still haven't answered my question. How long have they been going out?"

"How should I know? First I heard of it was when you told me."

"No gossip yet, so it can't have been going on long. Might even be their first date. Question is, why now?"

"Don't you have better things to think about?"

"Nope. Unless you've started making goo-goo eyes at Nurse Brenda or something. That would be fun."

"Her husband would kill me." Wilson paused. "Actually, _she'd_ kill me. Besides, not my type."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Have you considered that it might not even _be_ a date?" asked Wilson, reaching for the ketchup.

"If you think that will make your macaroni and cheese better," House said, "you're wrong."

"I'll take my chances."

"I don't really care if it's a date or not. Point is, they're playing outside the sandbox, and I like things the way they are."

"Were," said Wilson. "Sounds to me like you're already too late."

- - -

"ANCA was negative," said Cameron. She sounded a little breathless, as though she'd been running stairs. "We'll have to wait on the biopsy to be sure, but I don't think it's Wegener's."

"Anything else?" asked House, flipping the switch on the lightbox and squinting once more at the chest x-rays Chase had brought. The lower halves of both lungs were clouded and patchy-looking, evidence of pulmonary hemorrhage.

"ANA and anti-GBM were both high. Anything unusual on the x-rays?" Cameron stepped up beside him to look.

"Aside from the fact that the patient lied about being a non-smoker, you mean?"

"Well, technically he _is_ a non-smoker, now. He quit cold-turkey two years ago."

"Let me guess. You went down and held his hand and he told you his life story. He's lonely, you're hot, it was inevitable. Oh, and now you're engaged."

A little smile curled at the corners of Cameron's mouth. "Something like that."

"So what do you think?" House jerked his head toward the lightbox.

"Well, I'm not seeing any tumors or abscesses, there's no arteriovenous malformation -- just the generalized clouding. Put that together with the glomerulonephritis and the blood test results, and I'd say it's definitely autoimmune. Goodpasture's Syndrome, maybe?"

"Funny, Chase said the same thing. Did you discuss it?"

She brushed a stray tendril of hair back from her face, and House realized with a flash of irritation that he'd been studying her instead of the x-rays. "No," she said. "But I'm not surprised. The symptoms fit, and he's the right age."

"Hm," said House noncommittally. "Foreman done with that biopsy?"

"He took it to the lab."

"Fine. We'll see what he comes up with." House rubbed at his aching leg, then reached for his Vicodin. "Chase went down to the cafeteria, if you're looking for him."

Cameron looked bemused. "Why would I be?"

"I thought you two had started hanging out together."

She breathed an incredulous laugh. "You just can't keep your nose out of anything, can you?"

"It's my curse. So what, are you seeing him now?"

Cameron didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the x-rays, her forehead wrinkled in a frown as though she'd just noticed something, but House wasn't buying it. He persisted: "Sleeping with him?"

"Last time that happened," she said with a hint of asperity, "you didn't need to ask."

"You aren't. Yet."

She sighed, and switched off the lightbox. "We're just going to dinner. Foreman might join us, later." He ignored the latter, knowing its irrelevance: her averted eyes told the real story. "If you think Chase'll unburden his tortured soul to you," he said, "you're wasting your time."

"Really." Her mouth tightened. "What makes you think you know him any better than I do?"

"I'll always know him better than you do. Trust me, you're never going to get below the surface with Chase. He makes it a policy not to have feelings: too much effort, too little reward."

"That's ridiculous," she protested. "He shows his feelings all the time."

House snorted. "Sure, he responds to stimuli. So do bacteria. But the kind of deep, sensitive emotions you're looking for? Not any he'd be prepared to admit to, let alone _share."_ He let his voice drawl sarcastically on the final word.

"And you do?"

He ignored the bait. "If all you want is a good-looking date, Chase's your man. Though somehow I don't think you're going to be satisfied with a hollow chocolate bunny, but hey, if you want to waste a few months figuring that out, be my guest."

"You're forgetting something," Cameron told him flatly. "You're not in charge of my personal life. If I want to have dinner with Chase -- if I want to _move in_ with Chase, for that matter -- that's my business. Not yours."

"If it affects your ability to work together, it is my business."

"It won't."

There was a pause, while they stared each other down. At last House said simply, "Fine."

"Thank you," said Cameron, and turned to leave.

"You're too good for him," muttered House from behind her.

"But not for you?"

"I didn't say that."

One hand on the door, Cameron looked back at him, and now her eyes were sad. "No," she said. "You wouldn't."

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

GALATEA  
By R.J. Anderson 2006

_Part Three_

"Do you mind telling me exactly what we're doing here?" asked Wilson.

"Waiting," said House, his eyes intent on the windshield of Wilson's sedan. The sun had almost set, and the first stars were emerging in the darkening sky. A trio of shaggy-haired teenagers passed in front of the car and, with only a cursory glance at the traffic, sprinted across two lanes to the restaurant on the other side.

"I thought I was driving you home."

"You are. Eventually."

"We've been sitting here for --" Wilson glanced at his watch -- "fifteen minutes. Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans for this evening?"

House finished off his Slurpee with a last rattling suck and an exhale of satisfaction. "You don't, though. Do you?"

"...No. But that's not the point."

"Don't worry, you'll be home in time to watch _Desperate Housewives_." House set the cup down and leaned back against the passenger seat, shifting his weight a little to take the pressure off his bad leg. "It's what, seven-thirty now? Shouldn't be too much longer."

Wilson frowned out the window of the car. "What is this all about, anyway? Does Cuddy know you're staking out restaurants in your--" All at once he stopped and sucked in his breath. "Oh. Oh no."

House said nothing, only drummed his fingers idly on his knee.

"It's Cameron, isn't it? Tell me it's not Cameron."

"Okay," said House. "It's not Cameron."

"I can't believe this! You couldn't just _ask_ her if she was dating Chase, you had to stalk her?"

"I'm not --"

"Wait, wait, I know. You're not stalking, you're _observing_." Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut as though silently praying for strength. "I forgot about your very special understanding with the English language."

"Look, all of this could have been avoided if she'd just given me a straight answer."

"Right. Because Cameron is so devious that way."

"She didn't use to be. She is now." House craned his neck to look past Wilson again as the restaurant door eased open and an elderly couple emerged, their faces pale and starkly lined in the wan lamplight. "I want to know why."

"Maybe she just thinks it's none of your business. Which, may I remind you, it isn't--"

"Shhh!" House waved him down. Across the street, the door swung wide again and Cameron stepped out of the restaurant, shrugging on her coat and flicking her long hair out from beneath the collar. Chase followed closely after, and they stood together on the sidewalk a moment, talking. Chase said something that made Cameron laugh, and for a moment House's eyes narrowed; but then the door opened for a third time, and a dark, leather-jacketed figure came sauntering out to join the conversation.

"So now she's dating Foreman too?" said Wilson.

"Wow," said House blankly. "And you think you know somebody. Though come to think of it, she did say once--"

Wilson gave him a pitying look. "You were wrong, House," he said. "Deal with it," and started the engine.

"No! Wait, you idiot--"

Cameron's head turned toward the sound, and her eyes widened. She edged closer to the curb, her forehead furrowed and her lips parted slightly, as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Then all of a sudden she stepped off the sidewalk, leaving a perplexed-looking Foreman and Chase behind, and began making her way purposefully through the traffic toward them.

"Pull out! Pull out!" House grabbed the dashboard, as though he could make the car respond by squeezing it.

"I can't, she's blocking my exit," said Wilson, with fatal calm.

House lunged for the wheel. Wilson barely managed to hold him off as Cameron leaned down and tapped on the tinted glass. Keeping House at bay with a well-placed elbow, Wilson pressed the button and rolled the window down.

"Are you both _completely insane_?" Cameron demanded.

"You'd better tell her, Jimmy," said House. "You can't keep on hiding the truth like this." Wilson shot him an incredulous look, and House went on earnestly, "I've tried to tell him this obsession has to end, but he just can't get enough of--"

"Right," said Cameron, folding her arms. "Wilson, get out of the car."

"You mean you love him too?" asked House in tremulous tones, opening his eyes wide and clasping his hands together beneath his chin. "Someone lend me a hanky -- I'm verklempt!"

"It's my car," Wilson protested as Cameron opened the door, but he got out.

"Thank you," said Cameron, sliding into his place behind the wheel. She slammed the door, rolled up the window, turned to House and said, "Don't say anything. I mean it. Just shut up for once and listen."

Ordinarily House would have made some sniping retort anyway, just for the principle of the thing. But there was a determination in Cameron's eyes that he had never seen before, and while he would hardly have called it intimidating, it intrigued him. He let his hands drop and raised his brows slightly, inviting her to speak.

"I'm not stupid enough to think you're stalking me for romantic reasons," said Cameron, "any more than I'm stupid enough to believe that Wilson is. In fact I don't even _care_ what your reasons are. I just want it to stop. Now."

"I--"

"I'm not finished." Her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel, as though she were resisting the urge to throttle him. "Since it seems you _must_ know, I am not dating Chase. I never had any intention of dating Chase. But since you jumped to that conclusion this afternoon and decided to beat me over the head with it, I figured it wouldn't hurt to let you be wrong for once." She took a deep breath. "So now you know the truth, dull as it is. Are you satisfied? Will you go home now, and let me have at least _some_ semblance of a private life?"

"I don't care what you do with your spare time," said House. "If you want to take nude tango lessons with a guy named José or run a marijuana grow-op from your apartment, that's your business. But when two -- or three -- of my employees suddenly get all chummy and start meeting each other outside of work, you can bet I'm going to be curious."

"Why?" she demanded. "You think we're plotting mutiny behind your back?"

House screwed up his face in a grotesque leer. "Arr! I'd love to see you try, me hearties." He leaned back in the seat, stretching out his long legs. "You and Chase don't have the guts for it, and Foreman hasn't got the brains." He paused. "Or was that the other way around?"

"Cute," said Cameron. "But you know what? I don't believe you. Sure, you're nosy and suspicious and you hate change, and I wouldn't put it past you to spy on Chase or Foreman if you thought they were up to something that might spill over into the workplace. But the three of us have gone out together before -- for drinks, for dinner, even a hockey game once -- and you never batted an eye about it. Why start now?"

"I'd tell you that my spider-senses were tingling," said House, "but that would be geeky."

"You're right," said Cameron. "Except that's probably as close to the truth as I'm ever going to get." She sighed, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against the backs of her hands. "Would it mean anything to you if I asked you just to trust me? After three years of working for you, is that too much to expect?"

"I don't need trust." He spoke flatly, all pretense of humor gone. "All I need are the facts."

"So you can predict my behavior according to some screwed-up algorithm?" Her head came up again, anger rekindling in her eyes. "Sorry, I'm not going to help you out there. If you don't know me by now--"

_"You will never, never, never, know me,"_ warbled House sarcastically. "Any more lyrical clichés you'd care to spout? Because I totally rock at 'Name That Tune'."

"Forget it." Her mouth flattened into a hard line. "I don't know why I even bothered to try." She shoved the door open and put one foot out onto the pavement, obviously prepared to leave; but then all at once she stopped and turned back to him.

"You think I'm a fool for caring about people," she said. "For believing in them. For letting them get close enough to hurt me. You think I'm a bad doctor because I treat my patients like friends who need help, instead of puzzles to be solved." The spark had faded from her eyes now, leaving only weariness. "I used to think I might be able to impress you, to make you see me as an equal, but I know better now. No matter how much I learn from you, how many ways I prove myself, you'll never be satisfied until I'm just as bitter and paranoid as you are."

House did not reply. Cameron stepped out of the car, leaving the door open behind her, and after a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence, Wilson got back in.

"I see that went well," he said.

"Shut up and drive," said House colorlessly.

Wilson gave him a sharp look, but said nothing more. He turned the key, pulled slowly out from the curb, and they drove off into the night.

- - -

"I see that Chatty Cathy -- oh, sorry, _Tirzah_ -- was readmitted last night," said House as he limped into the conference room the next morning and tossed the file carelessly onto the table. It skidded down the length of the smooth surface and jostled Chase's styrofoam cup, making the younger doctor leap up with an exclamation as the coffee spilled onto his lap.

"Oops," said House insincerely. He glanced around the room. "Where's Cameron?"

"Dunno," Foreman replied without interest, flipping the file open and looking at it. "Affected limb is now hot, tender, with increased swelling. Patient complains of persistent dry cough, low-grade fever, lethargy and malaise. Ultrasound results for axillary vein thrombosis were... negative."

"She's been taken off the heparin," said House, "since you were, as I predicted, wrong." He made his way over to the coffee machine, found it unplugged for the third day running, and looked around again in the vague hope that Cameron would materialize at his elbow and hand him a cup.

She didn't appear. Feeling an urge to punish her in some petty way, he pulled open the drawer where she kept her few personal effects. Usually it contained a pen or two, a tube of lipstick and a bottle of lavender-scented hand cream, her glasses case and a small but varied assortment of herbal teas. Now, it was empty.

"Uh-huh," said Foreman, apparently unmoved. "You want the biopsy results on our other patient?" He nodded toward a second file at the far end of the table. "Lab confirmed the presence of anti-GBM antibodies. Between that and the lung hemorrhage--"

"Goodpasture's Syndrome," said House. Cameron had been right. She'd also been the only one of his staff to make the correct diagnosis, though House wasn't about to let her know it: he'd lied about Chase coming up with the same idea, hoping to rekindle her sense of professional rivalry. She hadn't taken the bait, though.

Where _was_ she, anyway? Usually she arrived to work early, or else right on time: not since the meth-and-Chase incident two years ago could he recall her ever being late. She rarely took sick days or asked for emergency time off, and when she did, she always called in first. But he could see his office phone from here, and the message light wasn't flashing. Besides, she must have come in to the hospital at some point this morning, even if only to clean out her drawer...

"All right, we've already got him on corticosteroids, start him on cyclophosphamide." House walked stiffly back to the table, hooked his cane over the back of a chair and sat down. "And schedule him for plasmapheresis twice a week. If we get on this fast, we might be able to save the kidneys."

"Got it," said Foreman. "You want me to go now, or you want to go over this other case first?"

"Go," House told him, waving him off. As the other doctor scooped up the relevant file and headed out, he added loudly over his shoulder, "and if you see Cameron, tell her she'd better bring me coffee. Or she's fired."

"I saw her talking to Cuddy first thing this morning," Chase offered helpfully.

House looked at him with a mixture of appreciation and distaste. "Are all Australians such rat-finks? Not that it doesn't come in handy, but I've wondered."

Chase looked defensive. "Hey, it's not like she told me not to say anything."

"Would it make any difference if she had?" Without waiting for an answer, House pushed himself back up to his feet and lurched toward the door. "Go spend some more quality time with Ms. Mighty Mouth. See if you can bend the conversation around to her travel history."

"What makes you think I'll have any better luck than last time?" demanded Chase.

House paused in mid-exit. "Well, if all else fails, gag her with duct tape and make her play Charades." He began limping forward again. "I'll be in Cuddy's office."

_To be concluded..._


	4. Chapter 4

GALATEA  
By R.J. Anderson 2006

_Part Four_

"Let me guess," said Cuddy, not even bothering to look up as House walked in. "Eliza Doolittle's gone missing and now you don't know where your slippers are."

"I knew there had to be some reason I suddenly felt like singing," said House. Cuddy did not respond, however, and he added with a touch of impatience, "So where is she?"

"She's working," Cuddy told him. "And, oh, would you look at this -- so am I. What are the odds?"

"Cameron works for me."

"And you work for me. Which means that she also works for me. Neat, huh?" Cuddy signed her name briskly, turned the document over and started on the next one. "But don't worry, I learned how to share in kindergarten. You can have her back when I'm done with her."

"I don't like it when you play with my Barbies," said House. "They always come back with their feet chewed off at the ankle." He dropped into the chair in front of Cuddy's desk and tapped his cane on the floor. "So what have you got Cameron doing that's so important?"

"I'm sure she'll tell you all about it, eventually. Though if you're really so anxious to find out, why don't you try _stalking_ her again?" Cuddy's tone was acid. "I hear you're good at that."

"Oh, I get it, I'm being punished!" He clasped his hands together and leaned forward eagerly. "Does that mean there'll be spanking?"

Cuddy gave him a level look, her free hand toying with her necklace. From most women, that gesture would have indicated nervousness. From Cuddy, it meant that she was either bored with you or resisting the urge to rip your head off. "Cute little boys get spankings," she said at last, shoving her paperwork into a folder and rolling her chair back from the desk. "Big obnoxious boys get restraining orders. You're just lucky that Cameron is more forgiving than I am."

"Where are you going?" He craned his neck backward as she strode past him, the folder tucked beneath her arm.

"Somewhere you're not," said Cuddy flatly, and slammed the door behind her.

House waited a minute to be sure that she wasn't just calling his bluff, then heaved himself back up to his feet and headed out after her. By the time he reached the corridor, however, she was already out of sight, and he paused, considering.

Talking to Cuddy hadn't been nearly as informative as he'd hoped, but he wasn't likely to find out any more by hounding her. Besides, she'd already told him what he really needed to know. Wherever Cameron was, whatever she might be doing, she hadn't quit.

He turned and loped back toward the elevators.

- - -

"Admit it," said Wilson, not even reacting as House reached past him and lifted the just-filled cup off his tray, "you're relieved."

House blew the steam off the coffee and took a sip, grimacing at the sweetness. "Next time, no sugar," he said shortly. "And get me one of those cinnamon buns while you're at it."

Wilson's eyes rolled skyward, but his right hand was already digging into his pocket for more change, and when he joined House at the cafeteria table, there were two pastries sitting on the tray. Without comment he exchanged the coffee House had stolen for a fresh one, and began drinking from the cup House had already sampled.

"Ew," said House. "I hear you can get some nasty bug-type things that way. What do they call them? Germans?"

"If I did, it'd be the first thing you've ever given me," said Wilson mildly, and took another sip.

House snorted. Then all at once Wilson's eyes went wide, and he said in a low voice: "She just walked in."

"Who," said House without much interest, "Cuddy?"

"No. Cameron."

Slowly, House turned in his chair to see Cameron standing by the cafeteria entrance, hands in the pockets of her lab coat and her auburn hair hanging loose down her back. She was talking to a short, balding doctor in glasses who looked vaguely familiar, but it took House a few moments to place him.

"Riley," he murmured. "Otherwise known as the diagnostics professor so stupid he couldn't diagnose himself with lead poisoning. What's that about?"

He had little time to speculate, however, because a moment later Dr. Riley shook Cameron's hand, clapped her awkwardly on the shoulder, and walked away. Cameron watched him go, then turned and picked up a tray from the cafeteria counter. Her face looked drawn and a little pale, her eyes downcast, as though she were worried about something. She didn't seem to have noticed House and Wilson watching her.

Eyes fixed on his quarry, House slid his chair sideways and got noiselessly to his feet. "What are you--" began Wilson, but House silenced him with a gesture and began to limp toward the place where Cameron stood in line, her eyes fixed distractedly on the chalked menu above her head.

Skirting the edge of the room, making sure to keep out of her peripheral vision, he made his way to the end of the lunch counter, then sidled up behind Cameron with as much stealth as his uneven gait and the intrusion of two more people in line would allow. At last he stepped up close to her, so close he could feel the warmth of her body against his chest, put his mouth near her ear and intoned:

"Where's. My. Coffee?"

Cameron jumped, and her tray clattered onto the steel rails beside her. She spun around, blood rushing into her cheeks, lips parted in shock. Perversely, House thought he had never seen her look more attractive.

"You're lucky," she managed to gasp out at last, "because if I had one when you pulled that stunt, I swear it'd be all over your pants right now."

"Mm, toasty. So what have you been up to this morning?"

The hectic color eased out of her face, to be replaced by a look of exasperation. "House, I've only been gone a couple of hours. I'll be back when I'm done this -- thing I'm working on for Cuddy."

But her eyes slid away from his as she spoke.

"Look," said an irritated male voice from behind them, "are you in line or aren't you?"

"Be my guest," said House, nudging Cameron aside with his cane and letting the young resident pass. The girl behind him hung back a moment, then gave a nervous flash of a smile and followed.

"House." Cameron's voice was level, though he could see the tension in her folded arms and slightly hunched shoulders. "We both know you're not going to let this go until you have an answer. But I can't give you one right now. All I can tell you is that -- last night notwithstanding -- this has nothing to do with you. Really."

House regarded her for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. Then he said, "Okay."

"Really?" She let her arms drop, looking surprised.

"Yeah, sure. Go get your tuna-prune casserole, or whatever they're trying to pass off as food today. I'll see you around." As she gazed after him with apparently equal parts gratification and perplexity, he limped off and rejoined Wilson at the table.

"I know that look," said Wilson. "That look, on you, means nothing good."

"Are you going to eat that danish?"

"Yes." Wilson put his hand over the pastry. "Come on, House. What are you thinking?"

"I could tell you," said House, "but then I'd have to kill you." He took a bite out of his cinnamon roll, chewed it. "I will say, though, that I didn't realize our sweet little Cameron was so ambitious."

Wilson took a moment to digest this, then looked up incredulously. "You think she wants your _job?"_

"Nope," said House. "I think she wants Dr. Riley's job."

"You mean he's leaving?"

"Well, I doubt he'd be shaking Cameron's hand if it were a hostile takeover."

"But she can't teach diagnostics without her board certification..." Wilson's voice trailed off. "Oh."

"Her board certification in diagnostics, yes. For which she needs letters of recommendation from two peers -- the kind that can be bribed with food, apparently -- and one administrator. I'm thinking Cuddy probably counts."

Wilson looked dubious. "She also has to pass the exam."

"Which is offered twice a year, once in the spring and once... right around this time. Gosh, do you think it's today?" House glanced back over his shoulder. "That would certainly explain that constipated face she's making."

"Hm. But is it pre- or post-exam constipation?"

"Fifty bucks says post."

"I'm not taking that bet," said Wilson. "Besides, you already owe me fifty. A few times over, actually."

"Oh, well, if you're going to be petty about it," said House, and pushed his chair back from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"Right over there," said House, pointing with his cane. Wilson's eyes automatically followed the gesture, and House looped an arm around and filched his danish neatly off his plate.

"Got to keep my strength up," he said around a mouthful of pastry. "This thinking stuff burns a lot of calories."

Wilson sighed.

- - -

"You want to know what I found out?" said Chase as he followed House into the conference room. "I found out the names of her ex-husband, her landlady, and all six of her nieces and nephews. I found out about every scrape, bruise, and hiccup she's had in the last six months. I also found out her opinions on abortion, gay marriage, and freedom of the press. Oh, and she's looking for a new hairstylist, any recommendations?"

"Sounds like you had quite the chat," said House.

"No wonder her husband left," Chase muttered, and threw himself down in a chair. "Five years of that would drive any man insane."

"But she did give you half a year's worth of medical history," said Foreman. "Nothing that sounds like it could have happened outside the country?"

Chase shook his head. "Far as I could make out, she spent the whole time right here in New Jersey."

"Well, she's not getting any better while we play guessing games." House hooked his cane over the top of the whiteboard and began scribbling. "Let's say, just for kicks, that she's never left the States. Any homegrown conditions that could cause swelling, fever, dry cough, eosinophilia...?"

An uncomfortable silence followed. He looked back over his shoulder and added dryly, "Don't everybody talk at once."

Foreman and Chase glanced at each other. Then Foreman said, "I say we search her apartment. Look for allergens, check out the meds she's been taking."

"I'd like to take another chest x-ray," said Chase. "And do some more blood work."

"Otherwise known as playing it safe," said House. "Sure, go ahead -- wusses."

"You've got a better idea?" asked Foreman.

"Not really. I just like calling you wusses." House snapped the marker closed. "All right, let's--"

"She's been to Haiti," came a familiar voice from the doorway. "Five years ago. She spent two years working in an orphanage."

House looked around sharply, to see Cameron walking into the room. He could still see the worried lines across her forehead and around her mouth, but there was color in her face now and the tightness in her shoulders had eased.

"How did you find _that_ out?" demanded Chase.

"Her pastor," she replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. "He dropped by to see her this afternoon, and I figured, if she worked for him and she's that much of a talker, he'd probably heard her life story ten times over."

"Sweet," said House. "Better him than us. Chase, get another serum sample and do an ICT for lymphatic filariasis."

"It can't be," Chase protested. "We were looking for parasites the first time around."

"If she contracted the disease three to five years ago," said Cameron, "the microfilariae might not be visible under a microscope."

"And even if they were," said House, "the little guys have this neat trick called nocturnal periodicity. You'd have to be pulling an all-nighter in the lab to see them."

"I'll go do another chest x-ray," said Foreman, rising from his seat. "If it's filariasis, she's probably got TPE, which would explain the coughing."

"Good. As soon as the tests come back positive, give her Stromectol and start her on a three-week course of Hetrazan." House lifted his cane off the whiteboard and leaned on it, watching as Foreman and Chase left the room. Then he rounded on Cameron and said brusquely, "Pass or fail?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Oh, don't play stupid, just give me the answer."

"I -- the marks won't be in for a couple of weeks --"

"Cuddy doesn't care about marks, she cares about solving her staffing problem. And I know she's got at least one ex-boyfriend on the examination committee, so -- did you or did you not pass?"

"I passed, yes. Probably." Cameron sighed. "I should have known you'd figure out what was going on."

"Yeah, you should. Was there any particular reason you decided to leave me out of the loop?" He spoke levelly, but the words had an accusatory edge.

Her mouth tightened. "Actually, yes. I thought you might decide you didn't like the idea, and shut me down. And for some reason, Cuddy thought the same thing, which is why she offered to be my administrative reference."

"Wow, you two sure have me pegged. Did you know that I also drop-kick puppies? It isn't easy with only one good leg, but I've worked out a really cool technique."

"It's not like that," Cameron protested. "It's just... it's like I said last night. You hate change. If it's forced on you, you adapt, but given the choice --"

He waved his hand irritably, dismissing the argument. "Who cares about motive? The point is, you thought I'd give you a bad reference. Or none."

"No." Her chin dropped, as did her voice. "I thought you might try to talk me out of it. And I thought -- I was afraid I might let you."

House said nothing for a moment, and when he did speak, his tone was quieter, if not more gentle. "Why would I do that? Sure, change sucks more often than not, but it's also inevitable. Your contract would have been up soon anyway."

"Chase's has been up for six months. I don't see you rushing him out the door."

"Well, I figured I ought to at least let him finish that crossword he's been working on. I mean, it's been four years, he's bound to get 38 Down eventually."

That coaxed a smile out of her, albeit a brief one. "The point is, you can be persuasive when you want to be. How many times has Cuddy been tempted to fire you? And yet you've always managed to get around her at the last minute." She shook her head. "I couldn't take that chance. I needed to do this on my own, to prove -- to myself, to Cuddy, to everyone else, even if I couldn't prove it to you - - that I was ready."

House snorted. "When I saw you at lunchtime, the only thing you looked ready to do was vomit." Cameron said nothing, and he added after a moment, "Dr. Riley seems to like you just fine, though. And presumably Cuddy thinks you're the right candidate to replace him, or she wouldn't be calling in favors to make sure you qualify."

"I know. But --" and now he could hear a note of anxiety in her voice, an echo of the old Cameron, so pathetically eager to please -- "what do _you_ think?"

"Why should you care? If this comes through, I won't even be your boss any more. But since you asked --" He shrugged. "I think it's a stupid idea. Teaching diagnostics, when you could be doing it? You'll be bored stiff in a week."

Oddly, this seemed to reassure her. She relaxed and smiled again, more genuinely this time. "Foreman wants your job. I don't. Besides, I'll still be available to you on a consultancy basis, when I'm not teaching or making rounds. Like Wilson."

"Right. And between the two of you I'll be set for coffee and lunch until I retire."

Now the amusement reached her eyes, and her smile took on the secret quality that meant she was laughing at him. "Something like that."

Slowly House limped toward her, his eyes fixed on hers. He looked down into her upturned face a moment, then deliberately lowered himself into the chair opposite her. "Okay," he said. "But first, you owe me dinner."

"What?" Her look turned to outrage. "What for?"

"Well, you were buying for Chase and Foreman..."

"I was doing it to thank them for writing my peer references!"

"And after nearly four years, you can't think of any reason to thank me?" He put a theatrical hand to his heart. "I'm wounded."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot you were sensitive that way." She rolled her eyes. "But I think you're forgetting something, too."

"And what's that?"

"You, me, dinner -- even if I'm paying, isn't that a little too much like a date?"

"For you, or for me?" He spoke lightly, but his gaze still held hers.

She drew a sharp breath, as though he had pained her. "House -- that isn't funny."

"You think I'm making a joke at your expense? Now who's the cynic? Trust me, if I wanted to mock you, I'd make sure I had a bigger audience."

"You'd actually go on a date with me."

"Sure. Even if the conversation sucks, you can't go wrong with free food."

"But why? Why _now?"_

"Why not?"

She made an impatient gesture. "You know what I mean. Practically ever since you met me you've been telling me how screwed up I am, how I'm only interested in you because you're damaged. Now all of a sudden, I'm okay?"

"I'm not interested in anyone who thinks they need my approval to justify their existence. And I particularly don't like being anyone's personal crusade." He stretched himself out in the chair, lifting his bad leg over his good one. "But now that you've started looking out for yourself and stopped being a tedious little moralizing millstone around my neck..." He shrugged. "Like I said, why not?"

Cameron was staring at him as though he'd just grown a third nostril. He bugged out his eyes and dropped his jaw in exaggerated mimicry, then went on in the same casual tone as before, "Sure, you're screwed up. So am I. So is Wilson, and Cuddy, and everybody else in this place. What about it? Maybe I don't believe there's any such thing as a healthy relationship, but that doesn't mean I think all relationships are useless."

"So..." she said slowly. "You're saying it's okay for both of us to be screwed up, as long as we have compatible psychoses?"

"By George," drawled House, "I think she's got it."

She gave him a withering look, though she couldn't quite hide the flash of hope in her eyes. "I'm still buying, though," she said. "Aren't I."

"Yeah, and I think you should know, I don't put out on the first date."

"Technically," said Cameron, "it would be our second date."

"Oh, you're counting the monster truck rally. Sneaky! And maybe a little desperate, but still, clever. I approve."

She looked nonplussed. "Actually, I meant the restaurant..."

House made an open-palmed, finger-wiggling pass in front of her face. "There was no restaurant," he intoned. "Repeat after me."

"There was... no restaurant?" she said.

"Lacks conviction, but it'll do. For you there is only one restaurant right now, and that's the place where I'm going to eat my weight in tiger shrimp."

"And spit the tails into my cleavage, no doubt," said Cameron dryly. "Remind me why I'm doing this again?"

"Because, like Wilson, you are a terminally nice person, and watching me be obnoxious gives you a vicarious thrill. Look, if you're going to analyze this thing to death and take all the fun out of it, we might as well give up now."

"Good point," said Cameron, pulling her datebook out of one lab coat pocket and fishing in the other for a pen. Not finding one, she got up from her seat and began to move toward the cupboards.

"You cleaned out your drawer," said House. "Remember? No spare pens for you."

Cameron gave him a quizzical look. "I did that weeks ago," she said, reaching into a canister behind the coffee machine and pulling out the stub of a pencil. "I got tired of people helping themselves to my stuff, so I moved it to the bottom of your filing cabinet." She walked back to her chair and sat down, flipping pages. "So when are we both free? Friday?"

"None of us are free," said House. He uncrossed his legs with an effort and heaved himself up out of the chair. "And I don't even come cheap. But Friday..." He let the sentence trail off, looking down at her lowered eyelashes, the smooth curve of her averted cheek. It was surprisingly hard to resist the temptation to lean down and kiss her.

She looked up, brows raised in mild inquiry, but the question in her look faded as her eyes met his. They gazed at each other a long time.

"Friday," said House at last, "would be fine."

THE END


End file.
